Escaped (Intrigue Under Western Skies Book 4)
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ESCAPED
Intrigue under Western Skies
Book 4
Elaine Manders
Copyright ©2019, Elaine Manders
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, other than known historical figures, is purely coincidental. The setting in Georgia is real, however, situations, places, and dates may have been moved around to fit the story. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.
Scripture references are taken from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible.
Table of Contents
Message to Readers
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Author’s Note
Books by this Author
About the Author
Message to Readers
Dear Reader
Thank you for buying my books, reading them, and supporting Christian fiction—even if you just like a clean romance. Your cards, letters, emails, and reviews lift my spirit and motivates me to write the next book.
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In the world you will have tribulations; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.
-John 16:33
Foreword
The country after the Civil War was as divided as today. Hatred was just as strong as before the war for many years. Then P. H. Fitzgerald, a former Union soldier and Indiana publisher, had a vision of a town where soldiers of both North and South would settle. The idea was that if they became neighbors, they’d forget their differences. He located a stretch of land straddling Wilcox and Irwin Counties in South Georgia. The climate was warm, the land plush and cheap, dotted with small farms of corn and cotton and peach orchards.
In the late 1880s, a famine swept parts of Nebraska, and Mr. Fitzgerald found his former Northern ex-union soldiers willing to move South and help settle a new town alongside the locals. He set up a Colony Company and sent out a call for donations, then purchased 40,000 acres between the Ocmulgee River and the community of Swan. Tracts of land were doled out to the settlers, tradesmen and farmers alike.
Mr. Fitzgerald offered his sponsors an invitation to come and check out the land for themselves. Enter my hero, Jake, who is sent by his boss to scout out the land for the Nebraska settlers. Juliette, my heroine, lives with her family just north of this land, near Oscewichee Springs, a place I visited frequently during my childhood.
Chapter 1
South Georgia, 1888
A boiling Georgia sun beat down on Juliette Kendal’s bare head. She’d forgotten her bonnet again, but couldn’t take time to fetch it. This garden patch had to be broken and the tomato plants transplanted so she’d have enough time to finish the wash and cook supper.
She spared a moment to straighten her aching back. Sweat dribbled into her eyes, and as she swiped it with the back of her hand, a scream came from inside the house.
Annie.
Juliette had left her sister cleaning the kitchen stove.
Had another mouse frightened her? She didn’t know what had gotten into the girl. Annie hadn’t been cursed with a delicate disposition like so many female children as their bodies started to mature. Something had happened to her after Grace’s death, and now Annie’s moods twisted one way and the other like a flame in the wind.
Juliette dropped the hoe and turned to investigate. Another scream—louder, more urgent, set her to a trot.
As she rounded the house, she glimpsed Harp’s thoroughbred tied to the porch railing. He was back from his month-long gambling trip on the Mississippi. That explained Annie’s screams. He’d never taken his belt to Annie like he had to the boys, but if he had—
Juliette lifted her skirt and tore around the house to the back porch. Hidden from view, behind a loose board, a long metal box rested inside the crevice. She lifted the board and tugged the box out.
Annie shrieked and with renewed urgency, Juliette flipped the lid and removed an oil cloth to reveal her father’s rifle. It was old, but kept loaded and ready. And Pa had taught her how to shoot it.
She’d warned Harp often enough. After he’d beaten her step-mother, Grace, to death, she’d warned him. He’d dared to accost her once. That’s all it took. She’d told him if he touched her again she’d kill him. With rage darting fire from her eyes, she’d come at him with the fire poker, and he’d backed up like a wild dog if you turn on it with a big stick.
He hadn’t bothered her since then, and it gave her comfort knowing he feared her, and for good reason. She would kill him. He’d even started demanding they take their food from the same bowl or platter on the table, afraid she’d poison him. Good. Let him be afraid.
Unfortunately, if she wasn’t around, he still beat the boys, and though he favored Annie, she hated him. All three of Juliette’s siblings tried to keep his abuse from her, maybe because they knew she would kill Harp.
But maybe he’d forgotten. Annie’s screams held pain as well as terror. Juliette cocked the trigger.
They weren’t in the kitchen so she raced down the hall connecting the kitchen to the parlor and froze, the sight knocking the breath from her. Harp wasn’t beating Annie. No—much worse. The unspeakable.
He straddled little Annie, hidden from sight except when she squirmed from side to side, her dress over her head.
Juliette forced enough air into her lungs to shout, “Stop!”
He paid no attention, and she lifted the rifle, her hands shaking. Maybe he’d hear a warning shot if she blasted it over his head.
Her finger squeezed the trigger at the same time Harp reared up. The bullet caught him right between the shoulder blades, and he jerked forward toppling on Annie.
The kick of the rifle knocked Juliette back a step, and the arid smell of gunshot stung her nostrils as she lowered the rifle. Annie scrambled out from under Harp and tore off to her room. She never even looked back at Juliette. Maybe didn’t even see her standing in the dark hallway.
Nailed to the floor, Juliette could only stare as the blood spread over Harp’s vest. She’d warned him she’d kill him.
And now she had.
Despite the heat, bumps popped out on her ar
ms, and the stench of blood made her want to vomit. How long she stood there trying to comprehend what had happened, she didn’t know. Then, in slow motion she moved forward until she swayed over Harp’s prostrate body.
Was he dead?
He hadn’t moved that she could surmise, and she hadn’t taken her gaze off him. The wound looked to be above the heart, but the blood made it hard to tell.
She stretched out her hand to check for a pulse, but snatched it back. Touching him was too repulsive. She kicked at his side with no response.
He must be dead.
The tinkling of her mother’s French clock pulled her attention away from the corpse. The clock was the only thing she had left of her mother’s, and she normally loved the sound that marked the hour.
But time wasn’t on her side. The boys would be home in two hours, give or take ten to twenty minutes. She had to get rid of Harp’s body before then. Her brothers couldn’t handle the burden of this mess, not with all they had weighing them down.
Her mind cleared, and her brain began working out details. What was Harp doing back, anyway? He’d told them he wouldn’t be back until September. He didn’t mention exactly where he was going and she didn’t ask. Didn’t care. Wished he’d never return.
Nobody need know that he had returned.
How to explain his horse? She’d tell the boys Harp had sent it back by a stranger, and he wouldn’t be back until winter.
There was the problem of the body. Her gaze fell to Harp’s sprawled, motionless carcass.
She’d just dug up the garden to transplant those tomato plants Corky had planted in the shade. Enough time remained to dig a grave and plant the tomatoes over it. No one would know. Unless the tomatoes died. And she wouldn’t be surprised if they did.
As far as Annie was concerned, the shame she’d endured would keep her silent. That thought sent bile into Juliette’s throat, but she couldn’t think about that now.
“Annie!” Her shout shattered the silence.
She scampered to Annie’s door, but it was bolted. Annie had put that bolt on her door herself. Juliette pounded with her fists. “Annie, open the door. I need help.”
After precious seconds of knocking, she gave up. Annie wasn’t coming out, and Juliette could hardly blame her.
She swung around so fast her head swam, and she palmed her forehead, trying to steady herself. What was she thinking? Of course Annie wouldn’t come near Harp, even if he were dead.
With little time left, she dashed to the backyard and found her shovel. The ground was moist and soft. It wouldn’t take much time to dig a hole big enough to hold Harp’s raunchy body.
She didn’t bother to wipe the sweat than ran in her eyes, nor did she worry about the blisters she was raising on her hands. Mindful of the time, she dug deeper until she hit the water table, and mud got too heavy to sling out of the hole.
After falling back several times, she clawed her way out and gained the ground. Stretching her aching back, she shook the dirt from her dress, and gave her heart a few seconds to calm.
She wouldn’t give her brain time to consider the task before her.
In a blur, she returned to the house, stopping by her bedroom to pull the sheet off her bed. It was the best sheet they had, but she didn’t have time to look for an old one.
She averted her gaze from the horrific sight in the parlor and strained her ears for any sound of Annie. The girl might have calmed down enough to at least help pull one corner of the sheet.
“Annie!” The shrill tone of Juliette’s voice startled even her. “Annie!”
Juliette gave Harp’s body a wide birth as she rushed to Annie’s room, and when she slammed her fist to the door, it flew open. No sign of Annie.
After the trauma she’d been through, it was understandable she’d want to leave the house with Harp’s presence permeating the very air with evil. Just knowing what he’d done made Juliette glad she’d killed him.
The clock tinkled the half-hour. She couldn’t stop to search for Annie. Backing out of the room, she swung around to the task at hand.
Heaven help her, she’d have to touch him to roll him over on the sheet. Thankfully, Harp wasn’t a big man. She squatted and checked his pockets. They’d need any money he might have.
She twisted her lips in disgust when she found nothing. Maybe Harp left his money sack in the saddle bag. But he was a gambler and usually came back home with empty pockets. Huffing, she rolled him over on the sheet and looked away as his sightless eyes stared at her.
No doubt he was dead, but common decency made her check his pulse to make sure. She felt all around his neck, convinced he was not only dead, but stiffening.
Grabbing two corners of the sheet, she tugged it several feet at the time, stopping to catch her breath, then continuing on through the kitchen. Bracing herself, she pulled him through the kitchen and out the back door, her muscles screaming all the way.
His head cracked each step as she pulled him off the porch with a sickening thud. When she got to the grave, she maneuvered the body as close to the edge as possible. Holding onto the sheet—no sense wasting a good sheet—she shoved Harp as hard as she could with her boot.
The body hit face down with a splash in the water that had seeped into the grave.
She allowed herself only enough time to flex her protesting shoulder muscles before grabbing the shovel. After filling the hole almost to the top, she retrieved the tomato plants, already full of blooms, and placed them closer together than she normally would. Tomorrow, she’d drive in stakes to hold them in place as they grew heavy with fruit.
Her muddy skirt clung to her legs, and she’d have to rush to get cleaned up before the boys returned from picking cotton at the Blythe farm.
But first, to find Annie.
Chapter 2
Sollano Ranch, Nebraska
Jake Gresham knew he was in big trouble this time. Not only had Carlos, the ranch manager, sent him to see the boss, but Jake was forced to wait, cooling his heels in the foyer. He tracked from one side to the other of the marble floor, stomping his boots, hoping they’d hear and call him in the office. Get it over with. The tall, ornate grandfather clock ticked off the minutes, confirming his efforts were futile.
This used to be a common occurrence, being called in for a chewing out, but the situation got better after Rhyan, the boss, married. His wife, Carianne, brought a gentling influence to everyone, and to be honest, she’d saved Jake’s job more than once.
Maria, the housekeeper, had told him Carianne was in there with Rhyan now, and Jake should wait until she came out. Well, he was ready to throw himself on her mercy. He doubted Rhyan had any, considering how much Jake had cost him this time.
The opening door stopped him in his tracks. A smiling Carianne came toward him, her skirt ballooned in front proclaiming for all the world to see she was great with child.
He tried to keep his gaze fastened on her face. “Hi, Jake. Rhyan’s been expecting you.”
“I’ve been here for a while. Is he ready for me now?” That sounded more arrogant than he intended, but it seemed he’d been waiting for hours, though the clock said fifteen minutes.
Carianne patted his arm. “Go on in. Everything’s going to be all right.”
He drew in a long breath. She must have been pleading for him again. He smiled his thanks and straightened his shoulders. She passed him and he marched to the library’s open door.
After crossing the long library, he put his hand on the office door handle and filled his lungs with another fortifying breath.
Rhyan sat behind his massive cherry wood desk, reared back in the swivel chair, hands locked behind his head, boots resting on the desk top. Despite the relaxed position, he looked serious.
Jake took the chair in front and started worrying his hat. Good sense told him to let the boss start the interview.
Rhyan’s feet came down with a thud. He hunched forward, elbows on desk. “I’ve heard all about how you busted up Nat
e’s saloon. You want to give me your side of it?” Liquor was illegal in Westerfield, not that it mattered if the law wasn’t enforced, and Jake had gotten some bad homebrew. That wasn’t something he should mention to Rhyan, though. He had enough pull to shut down the saloon if he had a mind to.
“I might have been the one who started it, but I had plenty of help busting up the place.”
“Yeah, except I’m the one who’s going to have to pay for it.”
Not actually. Jake’s pay would be docked for months. “Why should you be the only one to pay?”
Rhyan slammed his fist down on the desk. “Because I’m the only one who has the money, and you work for me.” He pushed back in his chair. “We’ve gone over this more times than either one of us could count. How old are you, Jake?”
Jake had to think. He’d been an orphan since the age of five or six and didn’t keep up with the years. “Twenty-four this past June.” Or was it twenty-five?
“It’s time you started behaving like a grown man. Consider the consequences before jumping into trouble.” Rhyan’s dark eyes speared Jake. “You know what I think?” He didn’t leave time for a response. “I think you know I’ll bail you out, so you never consider the consequences. That’s going to stop.”
Jake leaned forward. Did this mean he was going to get fired anyway? The idea of leaving Sollano sobered him more than anything. He’d worked on the ranch since he was twelve years old. Before Rhyan took over.
He knew everything about ranching there was to know. He’d learned to brand and cut calves, roped, tied, and drove the beeves. Took the varmints to market in all kinds of weather. Never lost a one. And he was the best wrangler on the ranch, having won the bronc busting contest three years in a row. That ought to count for something.
“You ought to hear my side of it. I didn’t start that fight. I wasn’t even gambling. Some fellow was cheating Monty and before I knew it, fists and chairs where flying.”